Saturday, 2 July 2016

He wakes from maroon dreams,Into a world of summer autumn colour schemes.The maroon man with his myriad moods,At schemes ,chuckles, smirks,laughs and broods.Red from blood once flowing,From skin covering secret scars,That now radiant and lambent are glowing,Like battle scars on old guitars.Blue from a music of oppressed art,Blue borrowed scent, blue love and blue heart.And somewhere Bukowski is sounding a rebel yell,'Love......love is a dog from hell.'As his eyes crave the sepia tint of nostalgia,Blue and red blend , overpowering melancholia.Hail muse! As nocturne sea brings foam to shore,As maroon distills into purity from its ore.City moves in chemically somnambulistic steps,As poets of buildings large and small perplex.Between these lines of cathartic ink,Maroon turns into crimson,magenta or even pink.